Jack and Jill
by ScaryScarecrows
Summary: A series of explorations involving Jackson Rippner.
1. The Before

AN: Hullo...everyone, really. There really isn't anything that NEEDS to be said, but those of you who read my Scarecrow stories may recognize Jill as being Kitty Richardson's cousin. Insanity runs in the family.

That aside, the opening one-shot takes place looong before Red Eye. Maybe...college days? Because this is fanfiction, Jackson was an exchange student in England. As always, I own nothing. If I did, I'd have a car.

"Want to go for dinner sometime?"

She looks at him, sizing him up, and then she takes hold of his shirt. He's not expecting her to kiss him, but he sure as hell isn't about to complain.

Her lips move to his ear.

"No."

Then she shoves him back and walks back to her friends. He rubs the back of his head and wonders how many people can say they got a kiss like that but no date and no sex.

"What about tomorrow?" he calls after her.

He gets no answer.

They're at a club. He snuck in here. She probably did, too. Normally he knows enough to cut his losses, but he can't forget their last encounter.

"Hello."

"You again. One per customer, sweetie."

"Feel like dancing?"

"No."

"What about a drink?"

"Are you stalking me?"

"No…"

"Good. And no."

"Can I at least get a name?"

"I don't know yours."

He'd give it to her, honest, but one of her friends drags her away before he can. Dammit.

It's not the same. It's just not the same at all.

The girl in his lap tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls him up against her. He's bored. This was too easy.

His eyes catch the other one, the nameless one. The fun one. She grins at him, takes a sip of her drink, and disappears into the shadows.

This just isn't the same at all.

It's raining. He knows he should go inside, but his roommate picked up a couple of girls and he's not in the mood for the noise.

"Jill Waters."

Seriously? He wants to crack a joke, but he'll be good.

"Jackson."

"Jack?"

"Jackson." he says again.

"No last name?"

"Rippner."

She giggles.

"Poor you." She walks around him, one finger running along his spine. "Well, Jackson Rippner, you might want to go in before you get hypothermia."

"Wait!"

"Mm?"

"Would you like to go for dinner sometime?"

"We'll see."

And then she's gone, leaving him with a useless umbrella and a name.

He might be getting somewhere with her.

"Hello again."

She's back. Damn these small towns. He feels for anyone who has a nasty break-up in this place.

"I'm here on a bet."

A bet?

"What sort of bet?"

"That your eyes aren't that colour."

"They are."

"Really."

"Really."

She looks at him and grins. It's a predatory grin and he wonders who is chasing who.

"That's interesting. Good night, Jackson Rippner."

She leans over and kisses him-on the cheek this time, unfortunately-before walking back to her friends.

"Please?"

"I didn't peg you for the begging type."

He's not. This is an exception.

"Just once."

"Just once."

He nods. After a minute, he adopts a pleading expression. That should do it. It works on everyone else.

"Seven thirty." she says. "Don't be late."

"To where?"

"Right here." She's already walking away. "Don't forget."

As if.


	2. The During

trudes193-Thank you! I wasn't sure how well this would go over, it's nice to see that somebody enjoyed. it. :)

"What's with the scarf?"

Really? It's there for a reason-he wouldn't be caught dead in it otherwise.

"Oi. Answer the question."

He tosses the paper with the address at her and points.

"Silent treatment?"

"Pen." he rasps. She cringes.

"Never mind. Shut up. And if you touch that radio I'll throw you out of here so fast your ass will have roadburns."

He keeps his hands safely in his lap. If anyone can break the speed limits and get away with it, it'll be Jill. She's done it before, back in England.

"This is a bad idea."

He grips her wrist hard enough to hurt and taps the paper again. She smacks him.

"Manhandle me again, _Jack_, and you'll wish your ass had roadburns."

It got his point across, didn't it?

"Good boy."

He glares at her.

"Put your seatbelt on and don't look at the speedometer."

He taps the paper one more time. The job is over, he's well aware of that, but he might as well drag Miss Pen-is-Mightier-Than-the-Sword down with him.

"I'm throwing you under the bus when they find out."

Fine. As long as she'll drive him.


	3. The After

trudes193-Stoppit, you're making me blush! That's good, though. I'll admit, at the beginning of the film I'm going, 'You'd better be nice to him, girlie!' and at the end I'm going, 'Shoot the sorry bugger! Teach him to respect the ladies!'

AN: Between you and me, Jill probably requested that Jackson be given some extra morphine to keep his complaints to a minimum.

Glass. Cool, unforgiving glass. He registers the feeling of it against his skin. The radio hums in his ears. The icy silence coming from his left makes him wonder what's going on. Shouldn't he be dead by now? Failure is never an option.

"Come on. Out."

He opens his eyes to see the apartment. Home. If he can call it home.

"Jackson."

Out. Right.

Everything protests as he stumbles out of the car. Why isn't he dead?

The elevator nearly knocks him off his feet on the way up. Then it's a Twilight Zone-esque hallway and then bed. Jesus.

He can hear her moving around. She's probably taking off her shoes and jewellery, and unbuttoning her shirt, maybe slipping out of her skirt. Always on the move. She's always on the move, always has been.

"You owe me, Jack." she says from the dresser. "I don't like begging, you know that. And that's exactly what I had to do to save your ass because _your_ emotions got in the way." Yes, yes, there's no need to rub it in. "Never again."

He cracks his eyes open and blinks a few times to try and clear his vision. Blinking doesn't do shit and he stops. Does speaking still hurt, he wonders? Only one way to find out.

"Jill."

"Don't." It didn't hurt as bad that time. That's something. "Just be quiet and go to sleep."

The left-hand side of the bed sinks down a bit and he feels her start untying his shoelaces.

"I don't know why I bother with you." she says. "Anyone with half a brain would have left you in the hospital."

He blinks again. Everything's still blurry.

"Jill…"

"I said not to talk."

His shoes slip off and she starts unbuttoning his shirt. He watches her fingers-she's got so damn many, when did that happen?-move from button to button.

"You could have gotten us both shot." she says. "Or worse. I hope you're proud of yourself."

She eases the shirt off and goes to work on his pants. He says nothing.

"It turned out fine in the end, by the way. Everything's taken care of. All you got out of this was a firm reprimand."

And a completely shattered ego. Not to mention all the bumps, bruises, and puncture wounds. What kind of idiot stabs someone with a pen, anyway? A fucking Frankenstein's Monster pen! He wonders if that left a scar.

She redresses him and he feels a little like a doll. An oversized, broken doll that came from a thrift shop.

"Go to sleep, Jackson."

Where is she going? She went through all that trouble and she's just going to leave?

"Stay."

"I'm going to shower."

And that's the end of that.

He thought he could sleep. He dozed a little, but it's not the same thing.

The shower shuts off and he hears her come back ten minutes later. Maybe she'll have calmed down by now.

"Jill?"

"Stop talking." Her voice is softer. Good. "I thought I told you to go to sleep."

"Can't sleep."

She's probably glaring at him. Too bad. How else is he supposed to communicate?

"I mean it. Be quiet and go to sleep."

"Come here?"

"Jackson…"

He looks up at her, hoping he looks somewhat pathetic. If he's doing it right, she'll come over. That look can get him almost anything with her-it got him a date, anyway. It didn't get her into bed as soon as he would have liked, but hey. You can't have everything.

"Fine." Perfect. "But shut up, you sound like nails on a chalkboard."

That's not his fault. Blame the pen.

He hears the clicking of the remote and the low whine of the television turning on. The M*A*S*H theme reaches his ears and he yawns. He's tired, he'll admit to that.

She's warm. He waits for her to get comfortable before settling down against her side.

"Stop moving, you'll reopen something."

She's still a little upset, then. Fine. She'll get over it eventually.

"Sorry."

"Liar."

He's not as sorry as he thinks he should be, but he is sorry.

A little.

"Go to sleep. You're going to need it."

He toys with a loose thread on the blanket. She slides her fingers under his and makes him stop.

"What happened?"

"Plan B and a borrowed post office uniform."

"Mm?"

"Later. Stop talking or I'll knock you out."

She'll do it, too. He knows that only too well.

He shrugs-ow-and closes his eyes again.


	4. Dysfunctional

trudes193-How they ended up working together...hm. I may have to puzzle over that this weekend.

AN: When you kill people for a living, your relationship abilities are a little wrong.

His hands are falling asleep.

This is what he gets, he supposes, for trying to win an argument.

_"Damn it, Jill, what are you trying to pull?"_

_"Get your hands off me, Jack!"_

_He'd tossed her onto the bed at some point. She'd just laid there, laughing at him._

_"You won't hurt me, Jack." she said. "I know you too well."_

_God, he hates that nickname. She knows it, too._

_"Or maybe you will. You're thinking about it, aren't you?"_

_He'd pinned her at that. There had been a brief staring contest before she grabbed his tie and tugged him down the rest of the way._

_"But you won't go through with it."_

_No. But he could damn well entertain the idea._

_At some point they'd rolled over and she'd taken the tie off. Fine. All was forgiven…_

_Until he found his hands tied to the headboard. Fuck._

_"You can't beat me, Jack." she said. "I'll be back in a little bit. Hope the building doesn't catch on fire."_

That was an hour ago. She hasn't come back and he can't get the knots undone. Damn.

He lets his head drop back and looks at the ceiling. At least he got to keep his clothes on this time.

Where is she? She's not just going to leave him here, is she? He knows she was pissed, but…

She'll be back. She always is. She might not release him for another hour, but she'll do it eventually and everything will go back to normal.

Well, until the next time.


	5. Morals

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-Hullo again! You must, you really must. It's a great movie. Of course, I don't trust my airplane seatmates anymore, but...

trudes193-Sometimes I wonder if they'll kill each other. Or at least try to. I would not put it past them to poison the coffee or go for a shower kill or something.

AN: As of now, this story is on break! I have no more one-shots at the moment. I'm sure that at one point in the future I'll get another idea, but until then...don't trust that nice guy on the plane. Just don't.

Jackson fell back on the bed, breathing heavily and soaked in sweat. The woman beside him groaned and murmured, "That was good."

He shrugged. He didn't care if she thought he was good or not. She didn't even know his real name. She'd been screaming for some guy called Max when she came. Max Rage, a nice librarian visiting town for a conference.

He wondered what Jill was doing, if she was cuddled up to some guy. Would she tell him about this one? Would he tell her about the woman pressed up against his chest right now?

"Do you have any more condoms?" she breathed, leaning up to brush a kiss against his neck.

"No."

"I'm on the pill."

"Maybe later."

He did have _some_ morals, after all. STDs were serious business.

"I'm going to take a nap."

"Fine."

She rubbed up against him and closed her eyes.

Jill sighed and lay back against the pillows, brushing her fingers against the man's back. This was boring. Besides, he made far too much noise. Really, how often did someone need to tell her how hot she was?

She finally shoved him off and slipped out of bed. This one had been a dud. It happened. It was time to go home, though, and get comfortable. Maybe Jackson was back. Maybe he wasn't. Did it really matter anyway?

She wondered if he'd actually gone out to get a drink or if he was with some woman. It wouldn't be the first time. Both of them were happy to say it was for work, at first, and then the lies just came so naturally. It wasn't cheating if they both knew about it. Technically.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"You're not staying the night?"

"No."

"Mm." He groaned and rolled over. "You were incredible."

"Thank you, sweetie."

"Hi, Jilly."

"Hullo, Jack."

Both hated those  
nicknames.

"How was your drink?"

"Fine. How was your shopping trip?"

"Disappointing."

Oh, such sweet lies.

She climbed into bed with him, quietly ignoring the fact that he'd showered when he got home. He was probably ignoring the fact that she had done the same.

"Disappointing, hm?"

"Yeah." His hands moved up, undoing the buttons of her nightshirt. "Fine, huh?"

"I've had worse." He gave her a quick kiss. "But I've had better."


	6. Dislikes

AN: I'm baack! -) Just a side note here: jealous boyfriends are only cute if they're not murdering psychopaths.

Jackson Rippner had a very long list of dislikes. He didn't care for sugared coffee, stakeouts, or-and this was a new addition-novelty pens. And that was just the beginning. But there was one thing that he only disliked sometimes, and that was sharing. Specifically, sharing Jill.

Most of the time he had no problem with it. But every so often he liked to keep her to himself. Like tonight. Once Kevin got here they were going to go back to the hotel and enjoy a nice night in. At least, he hoped they were. Sometimes those 'nice nights in' turned into a sparring match over the remote. He still had bruises from the last one. So did she, if the scarf was any indicator.

He was lounging on the bar stool, swirling a vodka-infused something, and watching their latest toy. The poor sap had hit on no less than six women so far, and all of them had declined. Jackson was amused.

His amusement faded when he spotted an old _friend_ of Jill's on the other side of the pub. He'd been aware of the risks of coming to England, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Said friend spotted them-or Jill, anyway-and sauntered over. He was very drunk. Hopefully he wasn't a crier. Jackson had no patience for criers.

"Jill!"

She didn't look thrilled. Good.

"Frank."

"It's been so long! Heard you moved to America."

"Yes."

"What d'you say we go to my place? For old times' sake?"

"Can't."

"Aw, Jill…"

"She said she can't." Jackson said coldly. "Didn't you hear her the first time?"

Well, there went the nice night in. She was going to be furious at being 'rescued'.

"Jackson…" she said softly. He ignored her.

"Come along, you've had enough."

"Hey, what're you playing at?"

It was an effort to manhandle the drunk to the door, but he quelled any funny looks with a, "Friend's had too much to drink, I'm getting him a cab."

Angry Jill or not, he'd been itching for an excuse to get out of there. Drunk people annoyed him.

He dropped the idiot in an alley and considered taking a knife to him. It would rather poetic if he did-Jackson Rippner, in an alley, slashing someone into little pieces. He could even take an ear or something. Didn't Jack the Ripper take an ear once?

No, he would restrain himself. About the death, anyway. The agency wouldn't be happy if they traced this to him, and he was on thin ice already. But he would be happy to take the ear.

He dropped it twice before finally giving up and tossing it into the bins. It would have smelled, anyway, and what would he have done with it?

Kevin had arrived in his absence. Good. He slipped up behind Jill and breathed, "Your place or mine?"


	7. Hospital

AN: This is what happens when Scary takes cold medicine. :)

trudes193-Thank you for reviewing! She does try her best, given the situation.

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-An ear. And that's why buddies don't let drunk buddies hit on ex girlfriends.

* * *

"Jackson, you idiot."

Bright blue eyes glared up at her. She was sure he'd complain if he was allowed to talk.

"We had a plan. We had a plan, and you royally fucked it up. And you're damn lucky I'm at least a little fond of you." He cocked his head, looking confused. "I had to sleep with the boss to keep you from ending up at the bottom of the Thames." He was doped up, he wouldn't remember. And he wouldn't say anything if he did. He knew better.

"Just thought you'd like to know."

He flapped his hands at her and she rolled her eyes.

"If one word comes out of your mouth before the doctors say you're allowed, you won't speak ever again." she warned. "Do you understand that?"

He frowned but kept his mouth shut. Good boy.

"I'll be back in a little while. I have to clean up."

She leaned down to kiss his forehead before grabbing her purse from the nightstand.

"Hey."

"What did I just tell you? Shut up!"

He ignored her and beckoned her over.

"Did you actually sleep with him?"

"I will never feel clean again. Be grateful." She paused. "Now stop talking, please, you're beginning to annoy me."

"Thanks, Jill."

"Shut _up_. Although…post office worker or news reporter?"

"Post office."

"Ta." She gave him another kiss on the forehead. "Now really do shut up, or a pen through the throat will be the least of your problems."

"Oh?"

"I was thinking about calling my cousin. Her boyfriend makes a living driving insane. See you later."

It probably said something about her when she relished the look of slight panic on his face.


	8. Dance With the Devil

AN: Meh. I was bored. It was late. The radio was on.

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-I think he's got a 'no death' clause somewhere. They were going to kill him in 28 Days Later and the test audiences were depressed.

trudes193-THAT'S WHAT I HAD IN MIND! I almost felt guilty making her do it. Almost.

The Dyson-Thanks!

* * *

"May I have this dance, Miss Waters?"

"You may, Mr. Rippner."

Chilly hands wrap around hers and they move ever closer to their target. It's rare that they have an assignment together these days. It's slightly stressful, actually. So much pressure to be extra-good, to one-up him. Her only consolation is that he's feeling the same pressure-more, maybe, since the Plane Incident.

"I know about the man in Reno."

"And I know about the girl in Paris."

"Do you."

"Quite a bit, actually." Just keep smiling, don't attract any unnecessary attention. "The man in Reno is an ex, by the way. He had a shoe thing."

"My apologies."

Anyone else might have missed the smug smirk in his eyes.

"What about the one in London?"

Dammit. She'd been hoping he didn't know about that one.

"Nice and mute." Unlike someone she knows. "Jealous?"

"Of course." She feels the blade of a knife pressed gently against her spine. "You're not as subtle as you think."

"Who said I was trying to be?"

"One nick and I could cut your spinal cord."

"You wouldn't."

"I might."

"That's not what you're upset about."

"No." The song changes. They pass the refreshments table and she grabs a paring knife from the sideboard. "What if I told you a little bird told me you wanted me dead?"

"I'd tell you that you're insane." She adjusts her hold on the knife and lets the blade dig into his skin. "You know me better than that. If I wanted you dead, you would be."

"Is that so? That bout of food poisoning was particularly nasty."

"Yes, it was." The knife digs a little deeper into her back. If he wrecks this dress, she _will_ kill him. "I told you not to get the sweet-and-sour pork from that Chinese place."

She digs her own knife just a touch deeper into his neck. This is incredibly awkward.

"Tell me the truth, Jill."

"I am, Jackson."

She catches a flash of distrust in his eyes, but it's gone in seconds. The knife slips back into his sleeve and she returns the favour.

"You'd better be."


End file.
